


try again?

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [130]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Post-Canon, in which newt and hermann redo things a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: it's never too late to wipe the proverbial slate clean. (they never hated each other anyway)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [130]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	try again?

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "I don't know how many of these prompts you have but I raeally hope you let us know if you're getting too many and want to take a break! What I was thinking was something like...But I loved you and I love you. I still do. In a better world, that would have been enough."

When the kaiju die, it is—

Anticlimactic.

When Newt connects to the brain, it is—partial. Incomplete. Really fucking _painful,_ too, actually, holy _shit fuck_ Newt is really regretting it now, like, ow, ow, _ow._ Hermann was so right. He was right and Newt, for once, is willing to admit that.

When _they_ connect to it together—when _Hermann_ offers to go with him—it is… _better._

Well; kind of. It’s still really uncomfortable—he’s talking _trying to shove a giant hivemind into terms that humans understand,_ here, it’s going to be uncomfortable. But it’s… _more._ Even after, when they’re in the helicopter, Newt can feel it; the thousands of beats of hearts and minds on the fringes of his mind—faint, but ever-present. Hermann can feel it, too, he knows; he can feel that.

And even thought the kaiju are, well, prefabricated killing machines that are part of a hivemind, they…they’re really very much _individual,_ too. They have thoughts and emotions and—not _connections,_ exactly, to each other, but…they feel. When one dies, they all feel it, and Newt thinks they… _mourn_ it. No; he knows they mourn it. They’re mourning Otachi, now, in the backs of their minds, tucked away from the Precursors.

The Breach closes.

The kaiju are—

_Gone._

Newt gasps; the sound lost in the cheering, and he stumbles; off-kilter from the sudden _absence_ in his mind; and they’ve only _been_ there for barely a day but—

Hermann feels it too, he thinks; not as much, but the look on his face shows that he gets it, and he lets Newt lean into him; lets him hide his face in his vest with a soundless keen; because even though the kaiju have been trying to _kill them_ Newt is in _pain_ at their passing.

“Newton?” Hermann asks, the sound only audible because, in a way, it is not _Hermann_ who is saying it but also _Newt_ who is saying it and, wow, okay this is confusing. “Do you need a moment?” and this time they _both_ startle because _that_ sounds _just_ a bit Geiszlerian.

“M—maybe,” Newt hisses, “that’d be rather nice, if you don’t mind.”

They make it up to the lab. Barely. The sofa is _not_ very comfortable, but it’s more comfortable than either of their beds, which might as well be a layer of bricks with a thin matress on top of them, so it’ll do.

“Shoulda done this earlier,” Newt says, half to himself as Hermann leans against him. “It’s nice.”

“Cosy,” Hermann says; though whether or not he means what Newt does is kinda unclear. His head is on Newt’s shoulder, and his hair is sweat-slicked against his forehead, and his skin is almost clammy. They’re both filthy.

Somehow, it makes Newt think about their first meeting.

  1. What a year.



He went back to his hotel in tears after biting them back for over an hour. To be fair, it _wasn’t_ Hermann’s fault, solely; Newt was a massive dick too. They were both massive dicks.

Hermann shifts. “You were _more_ of one,” he says, and Newt wonders if he said that aloud or if Hermann just heard him thinking it. He stares at Hermann’s fingers instead of asking that. Huh. Hermann has very _nice_ fingers.

“That,” Hermann says, “is one of the oddest things you’ve said to me in a while.”

“Shut up,” Newt says.

* * *

There were letters.

Or.

There will be letters. There are letters. The letters are there and not there and gone and not gone all at once. Time is finicky when you Drift with beings from an alternate universe. The Anteverse runs a bit differently time-wise.

There were the first letters, of course; these they both remember. The academic ones. Newt picking apart Hermann’s theories and enthusing about them all in one, and Hermann shooting back a retort that is similarly cutting and awed, once every two weeks, like clockwork, and then when the post office refused to take anything overseas, through email.

And then—

Silence. Breakage?

“Rupture,” Hermann supplies, pressed, still, into his side.

Rupture, Newt agrees. He’s still not sure if he’s talking out loud, but Hermann’s understanding him, so—so whatever.

 _Disasterous_ rupture. _Painful,_ too. Newt felt like his breath had been stolen from his lungs. Hermann probably thinks he’s being a drama queen, but it’s an accurate representation. Well; if one considers Hermann as the air he was breathing. It’s not exactly inaccurate to put it like that, though.

Hermann huffs; fingers worming their way around Newt’s waist; cold even through all the layers separating them. “Ridiculous,” he says, and Newt doesn’t know if he means the metaphor, the number of layers between them, or both.

Newt’s leaning towards the _both_ option considering the (mutual) amount of _desire_ going on around here.

“Love,” he says, suddenly, and, yep, _that_ is out loud and brings Hermann to a halt. “But…I loved you.” He gives a hum—this is, like, “new knowledge, here,” he clarifies, “and,” _it’s not every day you realise_ “I love you. I still do. In a better world, that would have been enough,” _to stop us from hating each other._

This is trippy.

“This is trippy,” Newt says, and presses the heel of his palm against his eye, and then the pressure’s gone because Hermann has pulled it away.

“Your eye is bleeding,” he says, in explanation, and his grip is gentle on Newt’s wrist. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Mm. “Yours is, too,” he says. “Left eye?”

Hermann nods. “We’re both human,” he says, “we make mistakes.”

“A-fucking-men to that,” Newt mutters. “God. I want to clock my past self for being a dick.”

“Understandable,” Hermann hums, “I do, often, as well.”

“Oh god, shut up,” Newt says; rolls his eyes, and then winces at the slight discomfort of it. “Do you, uh, wanna try again?”

“That…” Hermann trails off; and then a moment later, realises what he’s trying to say. “Ah. Yes. I would.”

Newt grins. “Great. My name’s Newt. Newt Geiszler. Pleased to meet you, also, I kinda love you.”

“Newton,” Hermann says, and smiles back, tentatively, grip slipping from his wrist to his palm, fingers lacing with his. “I’m Hermann Gottlieb. I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
